


Falling Apart

by Magnex91



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breeding, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Reader, Femdom, Forced Orgasm, Locker Room, Medical Kink, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Strap-Ons, Team Talon (Overwatch), more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnex91/pseuds/Magnex91
Summary: (Female reader) You are a former Blackwatch, current Overwatch agent. After a raid goes wrong on a Talon base, you are taken prisoner and inducted into a unique program designed to increase their numbers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a self-insert piece that I had affectionately named “Talon Gangbang.” The premise has not changed. At all. Strap in, y’all.

The blackness faded to a dark red behind your closed eyes. You could hear some things in the droning silence; a clinking chain, a distant scream. Pain was blooming in your head, spreading from the base of your skull, down your spine. Everything hurt. You could barely move your hand an inch or so on the ground. A clinking noise rose up from the floor every time you tried. You had been restrained before, but this was different from Angela’s restraints for painful treatments. More restrictive, less soothing. 

You checked yourself over, dreading the moment when you opened your eyes to see the result of your hubris. Something was cold on your ear; your earpiece was missing. Genji and McCree had been talking with you through the mission, but now the chatter was gone, replaced with a buzzing like a fluorescent light. You shifted your legs, hoping to find a weapon strapped against one of them. By tradition, you kept a knife strapped to the inside of your thigh and a back-up pistol in your boot. Commander Reyes had given you the knife years ago, telling you to always keep a back-up plan on you. “Either for yourself or whoever gets you in a bad spot,” he had said. But there was nothing. No knife, no pistol. Furthermore, the movements of your legs were slower than you wanted, and needed more effort to execute. You had been drugged at some point too. 

_Enough hiding from your failure,_ you thought. _Time to own up._

You opened your eyes and immediately shut them. A floodlight was affixed to the ceiling, almost blinding you. Little by little, you opened your eyes to take in your surroundings. You were bordered by concrete in a cell slightly wider than a bathroom stall, and about twice as long. The walls were smooth and blank, with some spotting from either the concrete being badly poured or some unidentified liquid. It was hard to tell from a distance. Across from you, a set of thick iron bars separated you from a dark hallway. A firm confirmation that you had failed. 

_What happened,_ you thought. _There was the warehouse. The raid..._

“You’re awake too?” Across the hall, a small voice called you. A female voice. She had an accent that was hard to place. “I saw you open your eyes. Are you awake?” 

“I am. Who are you?” 

“Embustera. Who are you?” 

A weird name. Probably an alias. “I’m with Overwatch.” 

“Overwatch.” Embustera let out a low whistle. “No wonder they wanted you here.” 

“Who’s ‘they’?” 

“Talon,” she replied. 

_Talon. Right._ It was coming back now.

You had been participating in a raid on a Talon base. Winston had it in his head that Talon was housing something important in a warehouse in Mali. You had gone into Africa with Genji and McCree, the old Blackwatch gang together again. You were flanking at the time. In the warehouse, there had been a struggle between Genji and another agent. The last thing you remembered was lining up your sights with the assailant’s head. 

You sat up straight. “I need to get out of here.” 

“Good luck with that.” 

“I just need to find a point of weakness,” you muttered. 

“Honey, what do you think I’ve been doing for the past year? There’s no way out.” 

“There has to be something!” 

In the distance, a door opened. Two voices in low contraltos murmured. Female guards? It was unusual, but maybe you could reason with them. Appeal to your commonality. Your hopes slithered up as the voices got closer and closer. Finally the guards stepped in front your cell. 

“Moira!?” 

Moira O’Deorain stared down her nose at you. Her fingers were tented, her lips pursed. She eyed you with detachment, as if you were a stranger who had stepped on her foot, rather than a former coworker. “Subject 60917 is conscious,” she said into an electronic recorder in her chest pocket. 

“Moira, what are you doing here?” 

“Subject’s memories are intact,” she continued. “Commencing physical examination at the request of the council.” 

Moira unlocked your cell and stepped inside. Fine, you decided. If Moira wanted to be your enemy, you would make an enemy out of her. Moira stepped between your shins. Your brought your legs together around Moira’s ankles and pulled. Moira fell back against the bars. Glaring murder at her former comrade, she straightened herself out immediately. You had never seen Moira so ruffled and a grin spread across your tired face. 

“Le chat a des griffes,” a voice from the hall said. 

“Little brat,” Moira spat. She drew a needle from her coat. Moira lunged forward and wrapped her long fingers around your throat. Moira’s long nails scraped against your skin, shaving pain into your neck. Moira’s mismatched eyes glared fire into your face. With every sentence, she squeezed your throat. “You aren’t Gabriel’s precious protégé anymore. You are nothing, and I will make you understand that before we’re through with you.” 

Moira released you abruptly and jabbed the needle into the side of your neck. The room swam and you felt herself fading out of the world.

* * *

 

It was hard to tell if you had been out for minutes or days. Your tongue was dry in your mouth. “Embustera,” you hissed. “Are you awake?” You were ready for the blinding lights of your cell this time and opened your eyes slowly. Just beyond the bars of your cell, there was a faint outline. A hooded figure, his face obscured by a black hood and the shadows of the hall. You squinted in the light. Your voice was so weak from fatigue and disbelief when you whispered, “Commander?” 

The hooded figure said nothing. His frame was identical to Gabriel Reyes’ frame; broad shoulders, narrow waist. But the commander had been pronounced dead years ago. You had buried him and moved on, but there he was in front of you. 

“Commander Reyes?” 

Silently, the hooded man walked away from the cell, leaving you to your shocked, rambling thoughts.

* * *

“Wake up!” 

You had nodded off at some point, and rose to someone kicking you in the ribs to wake you. You looked up into Moira’s disdainful gaze for the second time in two days. Had it been two days since you were captured? Had it only been two? Days melted together, without feeling like they had gone by at all. 

“What?” 

“Get up.” 

While you were unconscious, Moira had unbound you from the cell and simply handcuffed you, chaining your wrists together. She had also fastened a chain leash onto your bonds. With some impatient tugging, Moira got you onto your feet. She led you out of the cell and into the hall. 

“Moira, please tell me what’s going on.” She maintained her silence. “We have history. Surely that’s worth something?” Again, nothing. “You can at least tell me why I wasn’t killed on sight. I’m with Overwatch now; how am I still breathing?” 

“That I will answer, if only because the answer is interesting.” Moira had begun to lead you up a flight of stairs. “You present a variety of opportunities for our organization. A ransom. A statement. A small, psychological victory. You also represent experimental potential, provided we modify you a bit first.” At the top of the stairs, Moira opened a door and led you into another stretch of grey hallway with white accents. “I’m about to bring you before a series of people who will help me maximize your potential as an experimental subject.” At one door—solid, gunmetal grey—Moira turned. She took your chin between her fingers and guided you to look at her. Moira’s eyes—blue in one, red-orange in the other—had always been uncomfortable. In Blackwatch, you would force herself to make eye contact with her to show fearlessness and prove how brave you were to whoever was watching. You found yourself doing the same thing for an audience of one. As if pleased with your tiny show of bravery, Moira smiled. “Yes, you’ve always had so much to offer me.” 

“To offer the team.” 

“Me. And now Talon. Come in.” 

The room that Moira had led you into was an interrogation room, almost identical to the rooms they had in Blackwatch. A long panel of opaque glass dominated the far wall, bordered on either side by speakers. No doubt Moira’s collaborators were observing from there. A table—too wide for a pedestal, too high for a platform—was the only other piece of furniture. Rallying your courage, you dared to stand alongside Moira as she spoke. 

“Subject 60917 has shown significant experimental potential from a young age, as evidenced by acquired Overwatch records. It is my recommendation that she be fast-tracked into Project Beta as soon as possible. However, a fast-track will depend on the ability to subjugate her will.” 

_Subjugate me and die,_ you thought. 

One of the speakers on the wall crackled to life. “Requesting further physical examination of the subject.” A thick accent dominated the voice of the man who had spoken. Moira nodded to the window before turning to you. 

“What?” 

“I’m going to strip you naked, and then you’re going to stand up on this block—” Moira indicated the platform—“Where they can see you.” 

“No!” 

Moira drew a scalpel from her coat. “Either you hold still and let me strip you, or I can knock you out and cut your clothes off anyway.” 

“Fucking try it!” 

Moira came closer, laying a hand on your arm that pulsed with a purple aura. All at once, you felt your strength vanishing. Your plan— to try to strangle Moira with the handcuff chain— was dead. You could not even lift your arms over your head. Light-headed, you slumped against the wall of the room. You barely felt Moira’s grip loosen. “There now,” she crooned. “Was that so hard?” 

When you tried to answer her, nonsense syllables spilled from your lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Your Blackwatch uniform had been a long-sleeved black shirt and black leggings. The sound of ripping fabric tore through the room as Moira cut open your shirt. She tore through the bra similarly, letting the scraps of your clothes get tangled in the cuffs. Your breasts swung, unsupported. Moira kept one hand on your arm as she cut through your leggings with the precision of a tailor. Carefully, Moira leaned you against the wall like a broom. She removed your boots and socks, leaving you in a pair of underwear. 

“The underwear as well?” She was addressing the window. 

“Yes.” 

Moira cut off your panties. She cut the scraps of the clothes loose from your cuffs, leaving you bared to Moira’s collaborators. The air was cold, bringing your nipples to hard peaks under their examination. Moira made you stand on the pedestal, posing you as best as she could. In your weakened state, you could only make pitiful slapping gestures at Moira’s guiding hands. 

“Turn her around.” Moira spun you around to face the door while some unseen man examined your backside. You felt distant tears carving cold paths down her face. “Bend her over.” Moira did so, pulling you down. 

“Don’t embarrass me,” she told you, now eye-to-eye with you while the people behind the window looked you over. 

The next time the voice spoke, it radiated approval. “Very good.” 

“Relevant parties will be informed as they are required. Thank you for your consideration. Now you.” You cast your eyes to Moira. “Thank the council for their time.” 

“Go ffngh…” 

“Close enough.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Tell me what happened to you.”

You were back in your cell. The potential for escape felt further by the day, but you had to try. Getting shamed in front of Moira’s collaborators—reduced to a weeping wreck in front of strangers—was no way to proceed. Commander Reyes would have been ashamed of you as you curled up in her cell. He would have told her that nudity was nothing, sexual assault was nothing. You were a soldier first and a woman second. You wanted to follow his rules. It _should_ have been nothing, according to the rule of “Suck it up and move on.” But something inside you was vulnerable. And Embustera wanted to talk about it.

“What do you know about something called Project Beta?”

“Never heard of it.” You sighed and settled against the wall. No, they probably kept their prisoners nice and clueless. “What happened to your clothes?”

The last time you saw your clothes, they were laying in a shredded heap in the corner of the interrogation room. They had not bothered to give you a replacement. Moira had just thrown you back into your cage. “They got ripped.”

“So they took them from you?”

“Really ripped.”

You could not see into the cell across the darkness. Everything beyond the iron bars of your cell was darkness. Embustera could have been a young beauty or an old crone. Her voice had that familiar accent, but it was hard to place. Most importantly, she could be an ally.

_So what_ , you thought. _An ally one day is an enemy the next. Look at Moira._

The pieces came together then, as you gazed out into the dark.

* * *

 

“I’ve decided to cooperate with you,” you told Moira the next day (or next week; it was impossible to tell.)

“Really?”

You licked your lips, then launched into the speech you had composed. “You’ve made it clear that I have very little say over what happens to me as an experimental subject. However, if I understand you correctly, my compliance will lead to my use as a subject coming to an end, right?”

“Once you have fulfilled your purpose, we will have no more use for you.”

“So I’ve decided that it would be in my best interest to do what you want and be ransomed back to Overwatch when the time comes, rather than fight you and suffer further humiliations.”

For one horrifying heartbeat, you were convinced that Moira had seen through you. Instead, Moira reached out one of those long-nailed fingers and dragged it along your cheekbone, down your jawline. “I knew you were smart enough to understand your own defeat. Come along. I have tests to run on you.” You offered your wrists for Moira to bind. Almost as a reward, the bonds were looser. Not loose enough to attempt an escape, but enough that you could feel your hands properly.

“What sorts of tests?”

“You’ll find out. Right now, just keep that mind clear because I’m going to be asking you some questions as well. Do you need an injection?”

You thought about the zombie-like state of whatever drug Moira had given to you last time. “No.”

“Good. Come.”

* * *

 

Moira’s Blackwatch laboratory had been a hastily converted storage closet. Her new one was more medical in nature. Moira’s new laboratory was painted a dull shade of peach, like sick flesh. In the past, you had tried to avoid Moira’s laboratory. It was a strange, foreign place, even when it was a cramped closet. Now it was a combination office cubicle and medical exam room, crowded with shelves of books and binders, adorned with bright, gaudy trinkets that only added to the chaos of the room. You sat in the cold room, hunched over, still nude, and shivering at Moira typed notes into a computer.

“Have you ever had a blood disease of any kind?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had a sexually transmitted disease?”

“No.”  

She typed a bit more, filling in a final box that you could not read over her shoulder. Finally Moira stepped away from the keys. “You impressed the council. I think you’ll be a successful subject for Project Beta.”

“And what is that? You didn’t tell me before.”

“Project Beta is a way to increase our numbers, using promising prisoners of war and high-ranking members of Talon. But before you can be of any use to the true mission of Project Beta, we need to make sure you are capable of performing its objectives.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to so that I can leave.”

“Good.” Moira guided you to kneel on the floor. The cold tile dug into your knees, but its smoothness was a welcome change from the concrete floor of your cell. Moira took your place on the examination table, sitting with her knees at your eye level. “Undo my pants.”

”Excuse me?”

“You’re going to undo my pants, as well as everything else I tell you to do while we’re in this room together. And all orders going forward.”

“I am not—”

“Shut up. The end of that sentence doesn’t matter because you _are,_ at least for now, whatever you need to be. Or so you said. And right now, you need to be a compliant subject, or we can break you in more savagely.” Moira took her hand and guided your chin up to look her in the eye. “You will look back on this moment and realize it is the tamest part of your captivity. Now, undo my pants and pull them down.”

Fearing the retribution Moira was promising, you reached forward and undid the clasps and zipper of Moira’s pants with shaking hands. Moira moved up and slouched as she needed to so that you could undress her. She pulled the fabric away from her, revealing pastel pink panties underneath. It was so soft, and too delicate for the front Moira tended to present. “Those too.”

You hooked her fingers into the waistband and shucked her out of them. A well-maintained triangle of coppery pubic hair was underneath. You stared up at Moira. “Now what?”

“I think you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

_Oh no, you have got to be kidding me…_

“Moira, I don’t… You aren’t…”

“It’s not difficult. Treat it like you would want yourself treated, and you’ll do fine.”

You started to stammer out another protest, but Moira slapped you. The shock of the blow silenced you. She gripped you by the back of your hair and dragged your head between her legs. The sour, acrid scent overtook you as you closed your eyes. Moira was already rubbing herself against your face, holding you in place with an iron grip. You stayed still, letting it happen. As far as you could tell, your cooperation did not necessarily include your participation. You could just let this happen to you, do whatever Project Beta was, and move on.

“You need to open your mouth.” You shook your head violently. “Open it, our we’ll call the council and they can watch you give this pathetic excuse for a performance. Maybe they can get started on the video for your ransom. I think this would be an excellent opener.”

Overwatch would understand your position. Tracer was an understanding sort, and even McCree could not be too crass about this. At the same time, it was too humiliating to consider. You had their respect. Most of them, anyway. You forced your mouth open and let Moira press it exactly where she needed it. Your sexual experience was minimal, especially on other women, but you knew what you would have wanted and copied that. Anything with a texture, you rubbed and nuzzled as Moira dragged your head around. When you found the nub of her clitoris, you sucked on it. You could taste Moira, salty and sour. Moira tugged on your hair. “Tongue out,” she hissed. Your movements were reluctant, belying your hesitance. You stuck the very tip out, touching against her clitoris, making Moira gasp and roll her hips. “Very good. Keep going with that.”

You alternated between those motions, suckling on Moira’s clitoris and flicking it around with your tongue. Moira’s breathing came in soft sighs. She bucked her hips against your face. Fluid coated your face; you could feel it beginning to drip from her chin and onto her thighs. One cold droplet. Then another, like the start of a rainstorm. Moira locked her legs around you, crossing her ankles and locking your head in place. She held you hard while her orgasm shook her thin frame. “Yes,” she moaned. “Keep going, yes!” With a last, wordless cry, she squeezed you, long and hard against her.

The tears that fell from your face mixed in with the evidence of Moira’s orgasm. You needed to sniffle, but did not dare to. You had been wrong. Your compliance with their twisted plan only made everything more humiliating to bear. It made what they were doing seem right. They were _right_ to do this.

Moira sighed, and laid back on the examination table. She uncoiled her legs and took the electronic recorder out from her breast pocket. You sniffed and wiped your face off with your hands. “Subject 60917 demonstrates remarkable flexibility of motivation,” she told the recorder. “As well as adequate technical skill. It is my recommendation that she be fast-tracked for Project Beta.” She shut off the recorder and ruffled your hair. “You may have just received a promotion.”

* * *

 

You woke in the night to pleasure. Something was slipping around on your clitoris. There was a hum of pleasure between your legs, and you angled your hips up to meet it. “Nngh, please…” The mouth between your legs extended a tongue to lave over your sex. The limber muscle was soft over your opening, but hard on your clitoris, prodding the tiny nub with its tip and sending shocks through your body. Your hands were still restrained and there was no light to see even the frame of the person eating you out. This invisible lover worshipped your body, eating your pussy like it was a starving man’s first meal.

You came in a series of gasping sighs, squeezing your legs around the head of the person. There were hard edges digging into your thighs, but they barely registered as pinpricks. The sensation on your body was so intense that it left you gasping.

A bruising kiss fell upon your lips, and you tasted yourself in it.


	3. Chapter 3

Moira circled you, still speaking into her damnable recorder. “Subject 60917-B has shown excellent response times and keen motivation. However, the physical labor of the experimental trials needs to be simulated without risk of contaminating the subject’s assets. To that end, a simulation of the beta test trials will be ran on the subject.” 

If bending down to show your sex off to the unseen panel of judges was bad, this was infinitely worse. Moira had led you into the tiny interrogation room again, after God knew how much time had passed. The pedestal had been taken out, and instead there was just a dark grey padded mat, bordered by what looked like wooden stocks on both sides. You hadn’t gotten new clothes yet, so she had no need to strip you. She fastened you into the stocks, placing you on your hands and knees and cuffing your hands shoulder-width apart. Moira did similarly with your knees, putting you in an uncomfortable yoga position. You were already feeling the strain on your knees and shoulders. 

Moira shut off the recorder and faced the window. “We are ready to begin.” 

“Did you decide on an accomplice?” It was the same man from before; heavily accented, as so many people in Talon seemed to be. 

“We have. I’ll bring her in.” 

Moira walked away and the door clicked open. A woman had come in— delicate features with blue skin— wearing a clinging pink bodysuit and a strap-on that looked about size of a police baton and nearly as forgiving. 

“Widowmaker,” came the voice again. He sounded surprised. “I didn’t think you could have talked her into something that didn’t involve a kill.” 

Your blood froze as you remembered your initial briefing into the new Overwatch. Tracer had told you about a recent assassination she had been present at, filling you in with details about a blue-skinned French sniper whose cold eyes had been both terrifying and alluring (“Don’t mention that to Emily,” she had added.) Sure enough, the gold eyes of your experimental partner were an icy gold that promised pain and ecstasy in equal measure. She stroked the ribbed phallus that jutted out from her slim frame, playing with it to show off its rigidity. It bobbed in the air as she approached you. You closed your eyes, praying that you would wake up any time now. 

She looked past you, and spoke to Moira. “Lubrication?” 

“Please,” you whimpered. 

“No,” Moira replied. “We need to make sure that she can lubricate herself.” 

“No, Moira, please!” 

“I suggest you find something pleasant to think about, or the next few minutes will be very difficult for you.” 

A pair of spindly fingers dug into your hips, as Widowmaker prepared to mount you. “Don’t encourage her,” she said. “I want her to feel this. All of this.” Dread seeped into your skin as she settled in behind you. There was a moment of nothing, and then something cold tapping experimentally against you. Tears were already starting to pool in your eyes, starting the now-familiar trail down your face. You tried to shrink away, but she landed a hard slap to your ass. “Be still,” she hissed at you. 

“Please, be gentle.” It was a last resort, and a futile one at that. You knew even before the words left your mouth that she was unlikely to be kind to you. 

“‘Be gentle,’” she scoffed. “Fine, ma chatte, I’ll be gentle with you.” Then she slammed the strap-on into you, tearing a scream from your lips. Immediately, she set a hard pace, fucking you with dispassionate force. There was no way to feel each individual rib on the strap-on as it entered you; it all came as one sensation, like a serrated knife in bread. Each powerful thrust heaved your body forward. She was tearing you open, but you could see her face reflected in the glass to your side; her face remained impassive and neutral. Every squirm you made seemed to do nothing for her, even as she ripped herself in and out of you. 

She tore at your hair, jerking at your hips, and dug her nails into your skin wherever she wanted. The brutality of her movements was not enough to keep your body from responding to her. You could hear Moira speaking distantly, as if she was lobbing her comments from the end of a long hallway. You tried to cling to her words, to focus on anything but Widowmaker behind you, but the woman was too harsh on your body.You could feel the orgasm welling up in you. No! Not like this! Not in front of these people! It should not have felt good, but she was hitting your G-spot with each precise thrust. It was different in the confines of your cell, but out in the open like this… 

With a wordless cry, you felt the pleasure rock through your body. You arched into her touch, giving yourself over to the humiliation and letting her have her painful way with you. Your body clenched around her, making the sawing sensation all the more agonizing and wonderful. Moira laughed as you shook. 

“Marvelous,” she said, still sounding so far away. “You’ll be an excellent inclusion into the program so far. Thank you. That’s enough.” 

All at once, the strap-on was ripped out of you. You yelped at the loss. Moira knelt beside you and began undoing your restraints. Your throat burned. You would have killed for water. 

“What happens now?” 

“Now, you’ve earned a few more tests. Come along.”

* * *

 

“A few more tests” turned out to be similar to a physical. After a quick drink, Moira had led you to a rather bleak, grey gym and put you through some tests. Running so that Moira could measure your heart rate. Seeing how much you could bench. How flexible you were. In your peak condition, they would have been absolutely trivial. After several days of imprisonment and Widowmaker’s battering of you, it was a bit of a strain. Still, it seemed that you were making progress with her experiments and, consequently, you were that much closer to leaving. 

“You’ve earned a reward,” she said after the tests, leading you into a locker room. There was a large room, filled with lockers and a communal showering area beyond that. She placed some toiletries into your arms: Shampoo, conditioner, and soap.

“You may bathe yourself for as long as you like. I’ll be waiting out here, so don’t try anything.” 

“I won’t,” you promised. It didn’t seem like there were any weapons anyway. What did she expect you to do? 

Despite the orgasm that had left your legs shaky, the shower was the true ecstasy of your day. Being able to slough off all the gross, gritty sweat was absolute heaven. You took Moira at her word and reveled under the spray. Somewhere in the locker room, the door opened and closed. There was a murmuring of voices, something you could barely hear beyond the spray. Then two people rounded the corner. One was Widowmaker, but you could not identify the other one. Her hair was shaved on one side, with fuchsia implants glowing on that side. She was deeply tanned and smirking as she approached you. 

“What is it?” 

“You came from the demonstration,” Widowmaker said. “Yet you are only a prisoner. It wasn’t part of the plan.” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you stammered. 

“But you do owe me.” 

“I don’t—”

Before you could protest further, Widowmaker closed the distance between you and grabbed you by the hair. She crushed her lips into yours, an invasive tongue slithering into your mouth. Even then, she still seemed composed as she dug her nails into your scalp. She pushed you down, onto your knees and slid out of her bodysuit. She pushed you further, placing her knees on either side of your head. Her vagina was directly over you, illuminated to perfection in the lights of the shower room. “Lick,” she said. 

Your experience with Moira told you that refusing was a pointless effort. But as you opened your mouth to do it, she leaned back and the shower threatened to cut off your breathing. “I can’t under here,” you said.

“Too bad,” she replied. “Better do it quick, or you’ll drown.” Then she thrust forward onto your face. She arched her back as she rubbed herself against you, the spray of the shower blasting into your face. Widowmaker’s body was the safer option, and you found yourself seeking out the nub between her labia to try to finish her quickly. She made it hard, squirming around and suddenly bucking her hips against your face. She would send you off-balance in those moments, getting a rush of water into your nose and mouth for your trouble. 

At random, a shock of pleasure would surge through you as the other woman lazily stroked your clitoris. It felt like she was sitting between your legs, rubbing you as if she was petting a good-natured cat. You wanted more of that, more pleasure to forget the embarrassment of your circumstances, and tried to angle yourself to make better contact. 

All at once, Widowmaker pulled back and slapped you. “Greedy bitch, you already came,” she said, half breathless from the effort. “Keep still, or we’ll test that other hole of yours.” A finger prodded your ass, punctuating Widowmaker’s point. She pointedly sat onto your face, grinding against your open mouth. Her treatment pushed your head into the gritty concrete of the shower floor, causing pain to shoot up your neck and back. You just kept your mouth open, your tongue on the acrid fluids, and hoped for it to be over. 

Widowmaker shook and sighed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and hauling you forward, straining your neck as she came. She moaned in French, a word or a name that you could not hope to catch or translate. Then, as quickly as she had entered, she left. She pushed you away from her, knocking your head against the floor as a final dismissal. Widowmaker picked up her bodysuit and left with her companion, abandoning you like a forgotten doll on the shower floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The French feminine of cat— “chatte”— is slang for pussy. So Widowmaker gets a bilingual bonus in there.


End file.
